The heat roared to life inside her

Laura caught a breath that made her chest rise and fall sharply. She could still see Dale’s smile.

“You like that.” He made it a statement, not a question, as his hands caressed her bare skin.

“I do.”

There was an incredible unreality about the moment.

Sensory overload from the feel of his mouth, the sight of his dark head poised over her, the promise in those smoky eyes.

This was Dale Emerson, the man who’d been haunting her subconscious for so long that watching him touch her was surreal in the extreme. It was a scene from one of her fantasies come to life while she stood barely dressed in front of a mirror, his tongue tasting her throat, a warm velvet stroke that left a gleam of dampness in its wake.

“I’ve wanted to be bad with you for a long time.

And we’re going to be bad together, Laura.

Very bad.”

Dear Reader,

Hot Sheets is the first book in my miniseries FALLING INN BED…. Since this series is all about how falling in bed leads to falling in love, I promise lots of red-hot fun in this and the stories ahead.

In this story we have Dale Emerson. You may remember him from About That Night, Blaze #53, where he laughed at the irony of his best buddy succumbing to love. That attitude meant his time had come. So what kind of woman would tempt this bad boy? Well, there just happens to be a beautiful bedding consultant who works at a sexy romance resort. Sounds like a perfect match, right?

Not exactly. Laura Granger likes romance with her sex. She won’t consider a fling no matter how hot her chemistry with Dale is. And it’s blazing! It doesn’t take long before he’s not only obsessing about falling in bed, but falling in love.

I hope you enjoy Dale and Laura’s love story. Let me know. Drop me a line at www.JeanieLondon.com. And watch for the next two books in the miniseries—#157, Run for Covers (Nov.), and #161, Pillow Chase (Dec.).

Very truly yours,

Jeanie London

Hot Sheets
Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Brenda Chin,

for your continuing encouragement

and all the great names!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

1

“LET THE SEX GAMES BEGIN!”

Truer words had never been spoken. Laura Granger had crammed the schedule with more erotic events during the next three weeks than this old hotel had ever seen. That said a lot since the property had been built well over a hundred years ago.

Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast, or Falling Inn Bed as it was locally known, had started life during the 1880s boom that had earned Niagara Falls, New York, a place on the social calendar. Its evolution since that era had seen it alternately sparkle like a jewel and fade beneath the grime of the decades. But its most interesting development, as far as Laura was concerned, was its rebirth five years ago as a romance resort.

The term “romance resort” roughly translated into an upscale old hotel that specialized in sex, and as the inn’s special events coordinator, or bedding consultant as she was commonly known, Laura knew firsthand just how much sex permeated the mood around here. She could call the newly updated promotional blurb into memory by heart.

Fun, active and romantic, Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast is a unique resort, the perfect escape for energetic—and slightly wicked!—couples looking to ignite the spark.

Accommodations include suites exclusively designed for romance with lush settings such as the Roman Bagnio, Victorian Bordello, Sultan’s Seraglio, Warlord’s Tower, Wild West Brothel, Demimondaine’s Boudoir, Roaring Twenties’ Speakeasy, Sixties’ Love Nest, Red-light District and the Space Odyssey.

A variety of exclusive shops offer erotic enhancements designed to drive couples wild, and with the grand opening of the new Wedding Wing, newlyweds will have a one-stop spot to accommodate all their naughty nuptial needs.

Unable to resist a smile, Laura gazed around the lobby of the inn’s prized new addition. The Wedding Wing…this was her baby, an idea realized from conception through construction and now inauguration. She’d spent the past two years bringing her vision for this fantasy wedding operation to life and she couldn’t possibly be prouder of the result.

Light from a crystal chandelier illuminated the New England antiques arranged in welcoming clusters around the lobby. A small-scale reservation desk ran along the west wall, directly opposite her pride and joy—a Mireille Marceaux oil painting, showcased behind museum-quality glass.

The glass display had depleted a chunk of her budget, but the expense had been necessary to meet the terms of arranging the painting’s loan for the grand opening. And acquiring this art, even for a visit, had been quite a coup. Not only was the nude a regional beauty, but she set the whole tone for the new wing. And to Laura’s mind brought good luck for the all-important grand opening events.

She needed all the good luck she could get right now.

Falling Woman would do the trick. Surrounded by lush forest and mist from the falls, the woman in the painting held a sheer veil that spilled over her curves like a waterfall. Laura believed her sultry smile meant she approved of her new home, a place where newlyweds kicked off sensual happily-ever-afters.

As the name implied, the Wedding Wing’s sole function was to accommodate weddings. Five floors of banquet halls, guest rooms, romance-themed honeymoon suites and even a brand-new full-service spa to pamper guests.

The grand opening had been officially dubbed the Naughty Nuptials, and the ensuing promotional campaign would span three weeks of highly publicized events. Week one was dedicated to Wild, Wild Weddings.

Laura had a typical slate of bridal functions scheduled, but with a Falling Inn Bed twist. A sex-toy shower, bad bachelor/ette parties and racy rehearsal dinner would culminate in a real wedding and kick off week two of the campaign—Risqué Receptions, which would be followed by Hottest Honeymoons in week three.

This grand opening promised to go down in history. It needed to. The management staff of Falling Inn Bed had wagered their personal and professional futures on the Wedding Wing’s success. While they’d never expressed anything but total faith in Laura’s ability to pull off this event, their trust underscored every decision she made, alternately empowering and weighing on her.

As if on cue, the radio affixed to her belt crackled and a Scottish burr rolled out on a wave of static. “Do you copy, bedding consultant?”

Unfastening the radio, Laura glanced down at her watch—almost check-in time. “Whisper sweet nothings, handyman.”

“You’ve got a double date in the main lobby,” the inn’s maintenance supervisor, Dougray, said.

A double date. A couple.

Laura exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. The special guest she awaited hadn’t arrived yet, but she knew he’d check in soon enough and end her suspense. She’d find out once and for all if he were bringing a date. Knowing what she knew about him, he’d not only bring a date, but a date who’d prove he’d completely forgotten how he’d once flirted with her.

But if luck rode with her and he arrived alone…

Until Laura knew either way, she distracted herself with the full house coming in for the inaugural events. She’d instructed the staff to let her know when her guests started to check in, so she could escort them to the Wedding Wing personally. Attentive service would start off the grand opening right.

“That’s a copy, handyman,” she said. “ETA a heartbeat.”

“Show time,” she said to the front desk clerk, who’d just reappeared from an office behind the desk.

The clerk, dressed smartly in Falling Inn Bed’s gold-trimmed uniform, saluted, and Laura returned the salute before making her way from the lobby to the main portion of the inn.

Once again she couldn’t help marveling at the smooth transition as the new building segued into the original. She could detect no discernible difference between the new architecture and that which dated one-hundred-plus years—a remarkable accomplishment by a brilliant architect, who’d worked for nearly two years to achieve the effect.

A very attractive architect, who would soon arrive for the grand opening events.

Hopefully alone.

Squelching the thought before she made herself crazy, Laura passed through the promenade of shops connecting the main lobby with the Wedding Wing and found herself face-to-face with her Hottest Honeymoon Couple.

Lieutenant Commander Troy Knight and his wife Miranda looked just as picture perfect as they had the last time she’d seen them, only now the Lieutenant Commander wore sportswear rather than an officer’s uniform. Miranda looked…well, like Miranda always did—perfect. She was a vision in her sleeveless silk bouclé suit—with coordinating hat, purse and high-heeled slides, of course—perfectly attired for arrival at a romance resort on a beautiful summer day.

The butter color complemented the striking black hair that curled in an artful tumble down her back, and Laura suddenly felt the linen of her own tailored suit as if it had been hand-woven by someone with ten thumbs. Forcing steel into her smile, she made her way toward the couple.

“Miranda, lieutenant commander,” she said in her most gracious voice. “I’m so pleased you could join us for the festivities.”

She met Miranda’s familiar gaze with a calm professionalism that made nine agonizing years of private school with this woman and a lot of water under the proverbial bridge evaporate.

“Laura.” Miranda inclined her head in a gesture of greeting that was almost regal, but there was no missing the way her gaze flickered downward, taking in Laura with a glance that assessed the linen summer uniform as well.

Her husband extended his hand with a smile that actually reached his eyes. “Call me Troy, please. It’s good to see you again. Thanks for the invitation. Miranda and I were pleased to be included in your grand opening.”

Good thing someone was pleased, but all things considered, she found it much easier to smile at Troy Knight than at his wife. At least he seemed genuine.

Launching into the details of their itinerary, Laura focused on business and treated this couple the way she treated all her guests—as if they were welcome. These two would never know she hadn’t been the one to add their names to the guest list.

“I’ll take you to the Wedding Wing and give you an introductory packet.” She wanted to get this show on the road. The sooner Miranda and Troy checked in, the sooner she’d be on her way to await one very handsome architect. They started walking across the lobby.

“We have a few things to discuss, but as our honeymoon couple, you’ve got the best job around here. You’ll share the spotlight with our bridal couple at the events leading up to their wedding, and after they leave, you’ll be on your own. Since two’s company and three’s a crowd on a honeymoon, all your events are scheduled for two. You’ll have plenty of time to enjoy yourselves while you’re here.”

“We’ll need it,” Troy said. “Miranda hasn’t been home in months. Everyone wants to see her.”

What was new? Only the title as far as Laura could tell. Miss Popularity had married and become Mrs. Popularity.

“You’ll have plenty of time for visiting family and friends. Just make sure you save some time to explore our facilities. We have a brand-new spa that has all the usual massage therapies and salon services, but we also have a few unusual ones like aromatherapy baths and couples massage. Everything for a honeymoon couple to pamper themselves.”

“Speaking of, Laura.” Miranda slowed to a halt in front of the lobby’s fireplace, which had been draped with lush summer blossoms in keeping with the wedding theme. “I do hope you won’t be working the entire time we’re here. You’re hosting so many events.” She waved a perfectly manicured hand and gestured to their surroundings. “It would be a shame not to enjoy them.”

Miranda may have sounded oh-so civil, but the woman was on a recon mission. She wanted to gauge the enemy to determine how much time she’d be forced to suffer Laura’s company.

The moment could have been a time warp back to Westfalls Academy, the prestigious school Laura had attended until finances had forced her to go to a public high school. They might have been standing in study hall or in the dorm or on a sports team or at a dance. It never seemed to matter where, the attitude was always the same.

“You’re defiling the air I breathe, Laura Granger.”

What Laura couldn’t understand was why Miranda hadn’t simply declined the invitation to avoid breathing defiled air. Back at Westfalls they’d been forced to endure each other, but now Miranda had a choice. She hadn’t needed to accept the invitation to participate in the Naughty Nuptials. She could have simply RSVPed with a “Thanks, but no thanks.”

In fact nearly two years later, Laura still couldn’t figure out why her long-time nemesis had chosen Falling Inn Bed for her wedding in the first place. There were plenty of other wedding hotels in Niagara Falls. A romance resort—especially one featuring Laura Granger—didn’t seem in keeping with her stuffy social circles.

But Falling Inn Bed had been the rage ever since winning the “most romantic getaway” award, and Miranda could never resist a spotlight. As much as Laura hated to admit it, her nemesis was a perfect choice for a high-profile promotional campaign like the Naughty Nuptials.

Not only did Miranda present well, but she and her husband had been the last couple to get married at Falling Inn Bed before the inn had broken ground on the Wedding Wing. When her co-workers had suggested the Knights as the Hottest Honeymoon couple, Laura had opted to grin and bear Miranda’s presence rather than argue a case where she’d had no professional grounds to launch a protest.

Only some very personal ones.

But she refused to let past history jinx her grand opening, especially where Miranda Knight was concerned.

“Our staff will participate in the grand opening events, Miranda. The Naughty Nuptials is a celebration after two long years of hard work pulling this Wedding Wing together.”

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t these events intended for couples?”

She nodded. “We’re all about two’s-company-and-three’s-a-crowd here at Falling Inn Bed. The Naughty Nuptials events are no different.”

“So who’s your escort? Anyone I know?”

There it was—the dig. Miranda never could resist reminding Laura that she didn’t move in the same circles as her family. The woman had a gift for adding subtext to innocent remarks, and the subtext on this one was loud and clear—Laura dating anyone from her circle of acquaintances was a joke.

Once upon a time Laura had cared. Fortunately, she’d evolved into a woman who would never date anyone from such snobby circles. She’d had her fill of those types growing up in Miranda’s shadow, thank you very much.

Even Miranda’s husband watched them with a frown. More than polite interest was happening here, and while Laura wished she could commiserate with Troy, she couldn’t. He might present himself as a normal, decent man, but he had to be flawed in some way to have married this woman.

“Well,” Laura began, deliberating what to say. She’d lay down and die before letting Miranda know she didn’t have a date yet. “Since my escort isn’t from around here, I don’t believe you know him, but I will introduce you. With all the events, we’ll have plenty of opportunity.”

She hoped. If her architect arrived with a date, she’d be stuck roping the assistant general manager into playing her escort. A dismal prospect even if the man knew the first thing about having fun, which he didn’t.

A slight nod. A condescending smile. Then Miranda said, “I’ll look forward to meeting him then.”

Laura would just bet. But even if her plans for a date fell through, she wouldn’t let that spoil her grand opening. Once upon a time she might have been easily shaken by unfavorable comparisons to this woman, but she’d grown to be a woman who’d learned from the experience.

Miranda Knight couldn’t rattle her cage unless Laura let her.

And Laura wouldn’t.

“Shall we, then?” She motioned them toward the promenade, pleased at how unfazed she sounded.

Miranda noticed. She arched one of those meticulously shaped eyebrows as she swept by on her husband’s arm. Laura didn’t care. She was closer to getting this couple checked in and out of her hair.

But as they moved across the main lobby, the man who’d been occupying a top slot in Laura’s thoughts strolled through the inn’s front doors.

He appeared as if conjured straight from her imagination, one of those stop-traffic gorgeous men who couldn’t walk into a room without drawing attention. Not because he was loud or showy but simply because he was there.

He had that something about him, and it didn’t matter whether he wore a business suit or workboots and a hard hat. A hint of bad boy lingered in his easy smile, in his smoky-gray eyes and the way he made everywhere seem like the perfect setting for his dark good looks.

Laura drank in the sight of him, her body instantly on red alert. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and the reaction was so intense, so automatic, that she might have laughed. But there was absolutely nothing funny about the sultry brunette dangling from this man’s arm.

DALE EMERSON NOTICED the lovely Laura as soon as he walked through Falling Inn Bed’s front door. She stood showcased in the open area that led to the promenade, breathtaking, her suit hinting at all the sleek curves hidden beneath its tailored lines. Not to mention showing off a great pair of legs.

Her gaze lingered over him as if she’d been waiting for his arrival, as though she somehow knew he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head in the month since he’d left Niagara Falls.

Laura…what was it about her?

Dale couldn’t answer the question, damn it. He only knew his own gaze lingered as if he’d been waiting every day of the last month to see her.

As always, she wore her long hair swept back in an elaborate French braid that hung heavily down her back. He’d had fantasies about unraveling her white-blond hair and draping it across his naked body. He’d had fantasies about how he’d enjoy her naked body, too, and about those long, long legs sweated up enough to glide sleekly through his.

Even the way she moved made him think of sex, all that graceful, breathless energy…just the thought made him aware, and too damned horny.

Oh, man, he so didn’t want to see Laura again. If not for his obligation to attend this grand opening, he’d have spun the invitation back without opening it. But as project architect for the new addition, Dale was obligated.

This Wedding Wing marked his firm’s first foray out of historic restoration and into construction, an expansion that had been solely his idea. He hadn’t wanted to leave his firm for another job, but he had wanted to direct a team of his own, which meant finally breaking up the dynamic duo that he’d been with his buddy—the company’s owner—Nick Fairfax.

He’d come up with the compromise of the expansion, a decision Dale hadn’t made lightly. He’d been Nick’s right hand for a long time, and the two of them had not only earned significant recognition with their restoration work, but had entertained themselves by chasing women on job sites all over the globe. But ever since Nick had married a fellow preservationist, things had been changing.

The beautiful Julienne had consumed Nick from the get-go, and Dale had laughed like hell while watching Nick do the bump and grind of making himself a serious contender for her affections.

He was still laughing when he stood beside Nick at the altar as his bride had walked down the aisle.

But Dale’s humor eventually had started to fade when he discovered the thrill of chasing women wasn’t nearly so much fun when he was pursuing them alone. He hadn’t lost his best friend exactly…it was just damned hard to discuss the finer points of the opposite sex with a man who had everything he wanted in his bed every night.

This was a concept Dale flat-out didn’t understand.

He’d never had a hard-on for a woman that the next beauty who walked by couldn’t cure. Except for one…

The one who had zeroed in on him across an entire lobby of milling guests.

If it was any consolation—and it wasn’t—Laura Granger had always been as aware of him as he was of her. When their gazes clashed across the distance, every muscle in his body galvanized at the appreciation he saw in her crystalline blue eyes.

They’d been wired with some sort of sex radar, and after all the time he’d spent working with her, he should be used to the effect. He wasn’t. He’d been telling himself this acute awareness was nothing more than a side effect of this project. The Wedding Wing equaled sex, which had meant conversation after conversation about the topic with Laura.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d talked more sex that he’d actually had in his lifetime—and he’d had his fair share. But sex had become an obsession with the Wedding Wing’s bedding consultant, and while that might seem like a good thing given their chemistry, it wasn’t.

Laura was an idealist. She believed in romance with her sex. Knights in shining armor, who rescued their damsels on white horses. She believed that fairy-tale weddings translated into happily-ever-afters.

She was exactly the kind of woman who usually shut off his libido like a spigot. Except that every time she smiled one of those breath-stalling smiles, his temperature shot to full-blast and all he could think about was his body tangling around hers beneath that cool silk hair.

Almost as if she knew he was mentally undressing her again, Laura gave him one of those smiles. Then she took off, leading her guests along the promenade, her graceful steps putting more and more distance between them and giving him an incredible shot of the way she moved, all elegant swaying and subtle energy.

Running a hand through his hair, Dale stared after her, wondering what it was about her smile that made every nerve in his body tingle. Tingle, damn it.

“Remind me again why you bothered bringing me along.” The demand in the accented voice jolted Dale from his thoughts enough to remember the woman beside him.

“Monique love, I brought you along to enjoy your company, of course,” he said automatically.

“Then why are you staring after that blonde like some lovesick puppy?”

Lovesick puppy?

Glancing down at the beautiful French woman with cascades of rich brown hair and a pouting frown, Dale wondered how in hell to answer that question. He couldn’t recall being lovesick in his thirty-three years, not even as a kid. He’d dived into dating headfirst and hadn’t looked up since.

“How could I look at any woman with you on my arm?” He lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across her smooth skin.

“You promised to show me a good time.”

“And I will.” He directed her gaze to the lush main lobby that surrounded them. “Look at this great old place. We’ve got three weeks together to enjoy ourselves in five-star luxury, far away from our lives. What could be better?”

From what he’d heard, Monique had needed a diversion after being dumped by some actor she’d been dating. When her scowl faded, he knew she’d forgiven his screwup and was looking forward to this vacation and putting her West Coast lover behind her.

“Let’s check in and I’ll give you a tour. Between these accommodations and the grand opening events, we’ll have fun while we get acquainted.” He only hoped Monique didn’t let his mistake set the tone for the weeks ahead.

“Welcome back!” a familiar female voice called out.

“Great to be back, gorgeous.” In his fantasies at least. “Monique, this is Annabelle Simmons, the inn’s sales director.”

With a regal expression, Monique held out her hand.

“Welcome, Monique,” Annabelle said cordially but he didn’t miss the assessing way she took in Monique. “You’re in for an exciting visit. And, Dale, I’m so glad you could make it back for the grand opening. How’s it been going?”

“Appreciated the time off.” He appreciated a break from his Laura obsession, even if he hadn’t gotten it under control.

“All that hard work—you deserve a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labors.”

“I was on this property a long time, so I know all the hours you’ve put in, Annabelle. You make sure to pencil me in on your dance card because I expect you plan to follow that advice yourself.”

Annabelle grinned. She was a hardworking, old-school businesswoman with a head full of gray curls who’d always struck Dale as out of place in a hotel that held weekly marketing strategy sessions to discuss new and improved ways to get their guests to do the nasty.

“All right, all right,” she said. “No argument. There’s always so much to do around here. You know that as well as anyone. But the staff intends to lighten up for Laura’s grand opening and celebrate our achievement.”

“Sounds like we’re in for an interesting few weeks.”

“Oh, we are.” She rolled her eyes and motioned them to the front desk. “So come on. We’ve got to get our celebration underway. There’s a whole new wing filled with sexy suites that need couples to play in them. Let’s choose your poison.”

Dale didn’t know what to make of that statement, but when he caught sight of the new assistant general manager near the concierge desk, he steered the conversation back to business. “How’s Adam making out? Have you worked your magic and gotten him into the spirit of things yet?”

Annabelle didn’t slow her brisk steps. “Let’s leave it with he’s been trying to interject sanity into our grand opening.”

“He’s got his work cut out for him.” Dale gave a low whistle before explaining to Monique, “There’s nothing sane going on in this place on a good day.”

She followed his gaze to the assistant general manager in question and he watched her take in the tall, athletic man with a penchant for custom-tailored suits and sanity in the workplace. She seemed to approve when she said, “He looks up to the job.”

“We haven’t given up hope for him yet,” Annabelle told her. “Let me get behind this desk, and I’ll check you in myself.” Disappearing through a door, she reappeared behind the front desk a second later. “Now let’s decide where to put you.”

“The VIP treatment for the house architect, of course,” Dale teased.

Annabelle nodded. “What else?”

Scanning the system, she kept them waiting for so long Dale began to wonder if there was a problem. Monique gave an impatient sigh, clearly disliking the delay. Dale patted her hand, silently imploring her patience, and she finally stepped away, flipped open her purse and withdrew a compact.

While reapplying her lipstick, she ran her dark gaze over a new arrival, checking the man out as thoroughly as he did her. Dale frowned, but apparently long hair and multiple piercings weren’t to Monique’s taste because she turned back to him and asked, “You did say five-star hotel, didn’t you?”

One look at this grand lobby with sparkling crystal-cut chandeliers, mint-condition antiques and elaborate floral displays should have answered that question, but Dale nodded.

“Here we go,” Annabelle finally said, and he pulled Monique closer to discourage her from checking out any more guests.

“I’ve got availability in the Bondage Boudoir with the chains on the walls and the Fetish Flat with the whips and spanking paddles. Or if you’d like, I could put you in the Waxworks Room. But you’d have to move next week. It’s already booked for Risqué Receptions.”

She delivered all this with such a straight face that Dale could only stare. She’d obviously lost her mind in the time he’d been gone, which surprised him since Annabelle was the most normal member of the Falling Inn Bed staff with the sole exception of the new sanity-loving assistant general manager.

“What are you talking about, gorgeous?” He forced a laugh. “Did you build some new suites while I was away? Or did you change some names?”

Falling Inn Bed was nothing if not upscale. There were romance-themed suites galore, but nothing so gauche as a Fetish Flat. If Annabelle wanted to prove she could lighten up for the grand opening, she’d hadn’t gotten her mark. And he wasn’t the only one who missed the punch line. Monique was scowling again.

“Just put us in a guest room on the third floor,” he said.

“A guest room, Dale?” She shook her head. “You know better than that. You’re practically one of the staff. You get nothing but VIP treatment around here.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Monique said, emphasis on the ma’am and the age difference that must indicate dementia. “This hotel has bondage and fetish suites and a…a waxing room?”

“The Bondage Boudoir and the Fetish Flat,” Annabelle corrected. “And the Waxworks Room isn’t a waxing room in the conventional sense, although we do offer that service in our new spa if you’re interested.”

Lifting a questioning gaze to Monique’s exquisite—and momentarily stunned—face, Annabelle peered myopically as if checking to see if any waxing services were needed. “The Waxworks Room is a suite with protected furniture so couples can safely play with hot wax. Some people enjoy dripping it all over themselves. In fact, Dale, we just received a shipment of Busty Babe’s Bodacious Beeswax. Your favorite. Did you want to go for the Waxworks Room and take a chance the reservation cancels?”

Busty Babe’s Bodacious Beeswax? “Annabelle, what the hell are you—”

“Hot wax? Chains and spanking paddles?” Monique demanded on a rising crescendo that not only drowned him out, but drew the attention of the desk clerks, the long-haired guest and the assistant G.M. “Dale told me this bed-and-breakfast was called Falling Inn, not the pervert’s palace.”

“Annabelle’s only joking, Monique. There’s nothing perverted around here,” he explained in his best attempt at damage control. He couldn’t argue the existence of chains, spanking paddles and a multitude of other sex toys around here.

“You haven’t quite got it right,” Annabelle said. “Our name is Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast.” To prove her point, she handed Monique a promotional brochure from a display on the desk.

Monique darted her disbelieving gaze between the brochure and Dale. “You brought me to a bordello?”

“This isn’t a bordello.” He shot an equally disbelieving gaze at Annabelle. “Falling Inn Bed is a romance resort—”

“And we have Dale to thank for our newest addition.” Annabelle swept her arms toward him in a motion reminiscent of a game show model pointing to the prize behind curtain number one. “He’s the architect who designed the Bedding Wing, with five floors of sexy suites like the Coitus Chamber, the Mènage Motel and the Anal Atrium.”

The Anal Atrium did it. Monique’s eyes bulged, and she swung around to glare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “I thought you said the Wedding Wing, not the Bedding Wing!”

“I did—”

“Dale’s one of our featured guests for the Naughty Nuptials. We’ve got weeks of erotic events planned and there’ll be media to cover—”

“Monique, this isn’t what it sounds like.” He glared at Annabelle.

“Liar!” The word shot out as an enraged screech.

Annabelle’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and every guest within earshot turned toward them. Adam Grant headed their way, clearly determined to bring sanity to the chaos.

“You men are all the same,” Monique delivered in an explosion of sound. “‘I need you to come for business,’ you said. ‘I’ll take you across the country and pamper you until you forget Gerald ever existed.’ You just wanted to get me into this bordello to have sex.”

Dale caught her hand the split second before it connected with his cheek. “I came here to work.”

“So I heard. You built this bordello.”

“It’s not a bordello,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He was too busy dealing with Monique to handle Annabelle. But she was next in line. Guaranteed. “Let’s get out of this lobby so we can talk. I’ll explain. There’s nothing disreputable about a romance resort.”

“Get out is right.” She tried to break his grip—to have another go at slapping him, no doubt—but Dale hung on.

“You’re overreacting—”

“Me, overreacting? You’re a pervert.” She pulled away so forcefully, he had to let go or risk breaking her wrist.

She obviously intended to storm away, but found her way blocked by Adam, who said, “Excuse me. Is there a problem I can help with?”

Before Dale could open his mouth, Monique demanded a limo to take her to the airport.

Adam didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, if you’ll join me at the concierge desk, I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“Not necessary,” Dale said. “I’ll take you home, Monique. No problem. Let’s go.”

He’d think of something to tell his boss.

“Pervert,” Monique snapped. “I’d walk back to California before I sat on a flight with you.” In a swirl of red silk, she spun on her heel and headed toward the concierge desk.

“I’ll take care of her,” Adam said, his stoic gaze warning Dale to let him handle the arrangements before his date created even more of a scene.

Dale had never been abandoned like this before, so it took a moment to realize that he had no choice but to back down graciously. Monique obviously didn’t want to be reasoned with, or to be here with him, either.

Fishing out the information for the return flight, he handed it to Adam and told him to bill her charges to his room.

Adam took off, and to his credit, he quickly calmed Monique down enough so the lobby couldn’t overhear their conversation.

What the hell had Dale been thinking to bring a woman on the rebound to this event? Under normal circumstances, he would have been able to produce a more suitable date.

Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.

Being the boss of his own job had meant enforced good behavior while building this bordello, so finding someone to attend an excursion had been a test of his social connections. After spending nearly two years in Niagara Falls constructing the Wedding Wing, his friends back at his West Coast home barely remembered what he looked like.

If he’d had any sense, he would have attended the grand opening alone. But the thought of three weeks spent lusting after Laura had driven him to action. Now he’d paid the price.

As Adam escorted Monique back to the entrance, Dale heard him reassure her that both she and her bags would be on their way to the airport immediately. She swept past, shooting Dale a dark look that should have shriveled him on the spot.

Turning to Annabelle, Dale thought about how this whole scene could have been worse. If Laura had been here to witness the carnage…

She’d hear about it, of course, but Dale didn’t care. By then he’d have vented his anger on Annabelle, who had some serious explaining to do about why he was suddenly facing three weeks of erotic events alone.

2

“THE ANAL ATRIUM?” Dale sounded a lot calmer than he felt.

“It did the trick, didn’t it?” Annabelle said.

“You chased her off on purpose.”

“I did.” No repentance whatsoever. “I saved you from a miserable three weeks. Monique wasn’t your type, Dale. I’m surprised you even brought her.”

“All I ever did was work around here, Annabelle, so what would you know about my type?”

She handed him a white envelope and a letter opener.

Scowling, Dale sliced through the heavy paper and withdrew what turned out to be an invitation. He flipped it open and found himself riveted by the familiar handwriting inside.

Dale,

I’d like you to be my guest for the Naughty Nuptials and to share the Castaway Honeymoon Isle suite. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Your visit will give us the perfect chance to enjoy ourselves.

Laura

“So what’ll it be, Casanova?” Annabelle looked smug. “Do I check you into the Castaway Honeymoon Isle or have Adam hold the limo?”

Under normal circumstances Dale wasn’t prone to mood swings. In fact, to hear his family and friends tell it, he was a downright good-natured guy. But, again, these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d swung from mad as hell to happy camper so fast he felt dizzy.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

Aside from the fact Annabelle was waiting for an answer about whether or not he wanted to make love to her co-worker, something coiled low in his gut…some wrenching feeling that was wholly unfamiliar.

He should feel guilty that Monique had flown clear across the country to turn around and make the trip back but he couldn’t work up an ounce of regret. Not when Laura had decided to enjoy herself with him.

“Will I need the Groom’s Survival Guide if I accept her invitation?”

“Check in and find out.”

Dale searched Annabelle’s expression. He thought she was joking, but given the events of the past twenty minutes, he wouldn’t bet money. As much as he wanted to heat the sheets with Laura, a stubborn shred of reason insisted on knowing what had made Ms. In-Love-with-Love drag her head from the clouds long enough for a solid tumble on terra firma.

“You’re not considering turning her down, are you?” Annabelle asked.

He’d spent too much time lusting after Laura to pass up this golden opportunity, but somehow when talking to Annabelle, he hated sounding easy.

“Around this place it’s always a good idea to be clear on the details.” An understatement, given the memory of Monique’s departure. “The Anal Atrium, Annabelle?”

“I pulled that out on a dime, can you believe it?” Her laughter rang out loudly enough to draw another glance from the desk clerks, who were working hard to give their sales director some privacy in the limited space. “So what’ll it be, Casanova?”

Tucking the letter carefully back into the envelope, he slipped it inside his jacket pocket. “The Castaway Honeymoon Isle, of course.”

“An excellent choice.” With a smile still on her face, she tapped out a mad burst on a computer keyboard, then handed him a card key. “Enjoy your stay at Falling Inn Bed.”

“I will.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thanks, gorgeous. I know the way.”

“ALL RIGHT, ANNABELLE, who is she?” Pausing in the doorway of the sales office, Laura braced herself to hear about the curvy brunette who’d accompanied the man she’d waited too long to decide she’d wanted for herself.

“She’s gone.”

Laura must have braced herself too tightly because it took a second for that statement to register. “She’s gone?”

Annabelle nodded. “Dale’s date freaked when she found out we’re a romance resort. She made quite a scene at the front desk and demanded a limo to take her back to the airport. Adam calmed her down and sent her on her way.”

Laura had seen the brunette clinging to Dale and knew that two plus two did not equal four here. “All right, what did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“Oh, please. I work here, remember? I know how we operate. Romance at all costs. If not you personally, then someone around here did something to chase her off. So fess up. What was it?”

Annabelle eyed her without remorse. “Do you really care when your date is in the Castaway Honeymoon Isle as we speak?”

Laura closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the words filter through her and take hold in slow degrees.

No, she didn’t care. She’d fantasized about Dale Emerson for so long that those fantasies had interfered with her life. While he’d been in town building the Wedding Wing, she’d spent way too much time hanging around after work, making excuses to run into him when she should have been dating.

She’d expected the problem to go away post-construction, but no such luck. If anything, she’d become more preoccupied with the man after he’d left, as if her subconscious worked overtime to make up for his absence. Only after she’d exhausted herself trying to banish Dale from her fantasies once and for all had she finally given in and decided to take action.

“Laura, are you all right?” Annabelle asked.

“You gave Dale my invitation?”

She nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He asked if he had to marry you.”

Tension burst out as nervous laughter. “What did you say?”

“I told him to check in and find out.” She winked. “I’d never tell him he couldn’t marry you. You’d be good together.”

“Oh, Annabelle, please. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m looking for a man with a compatible lifestyle and a career that doesn’t make him a nomad.”

Laura had learned the hard way to be very selective about who she got involved with. After growing up with her head-over-heels parents, she had a healthy respect for the power of love. If she was going to fall for any man, she was going to make sure he was the right man.

But Dale had proven himself a special case. Even though he had heartbreak written all over him, she couldn’t steer clear of him, not even after he’d left Niagara Falls for the West Coast. She’d been forced to resort to damage control—in this case a fling during Naughty Nuptials. Pure fantasy. Limited time frame. And work, work, work to distract her. She’d barely have time for sex, let alone a chance for her feelings to run away with her.

Unfortunately, Annabelle wasn’t buying it, and she wasn’t the only one who didn’t. Laura’s parents had been debating her views for years.

“You’re looking for Mr. Perfect,” Annabelle said. “And I hate to burst your bubble but he doesn’t exist.”

“I’m looking for Mr. Perfect-for-me and he does exist. I just haven’t found him yet. But I’ve clarified exactly what I want from Dale in my invitation. I was clear, don’t you think?”

“Very clear. You want to enjoy the celebration with him. You want to enjoy him.”

“He really agreed?”

Annabelle nodded.

“I’m really going to do this?” It was a question. It shouldn’t be. Laura could handle Dale Emerson. Of course she could. And there would never be a more perfect time.

“You issued the invitation, my girl. It would be poor form to change your mind now. Especially since I chased off his date.”

“I knew it!”

Annabelle only steepled her hands before her and smiled.

While Laura appreciated the effort, she did feel a pang of guilt. Yet if the curvy brunette who had been hanging all over him was scared off by the concept of a romance resort, she was out of her league.

Laura hoped she was the only one.

“Well, I won’t change my mind.” She took a deep, fortifying breath. “As the bedding consultant around here, it’s up to me to set a good example.”

“Agreed. Which means you need to get upstairs and greet your guest. He seemed…eager.”

“Did he?”

Annabelle smiled. “Very.”

Well, most men would be eager with an invitation for sex in a room designed for lovers, wouldn’t they? Especially a man with Dale’s appetite. Alleged appetite.

Laura glanced down at her watch. “I can’t go just yet. I’m waiting for Delia and Jackson. Oh, and don’t forget, we’re set for dinner with our featured couples and the press at seven.”

“I’ll be there with bells. But you need to make time to greet Dale. And don’t worry. Your invitation was crystal clear.”

“Okay.”

“You’re a beautiful young woman who has worked very hard to accomplish what you have, Laura. Celebrate. You like Dale and he likes you. Have a good time together and don’t stress out about anything else. When will you ever get another chance to join in the fun and games around here? You’re usually slaving away behind the scenes. This is a unique opportunity.”

Wise advice. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d waste a lot more time angsting, no doubt,” Annabelle said with a feigned scowl. She hated the mushy stuff. “You did the right thing by inviting the man to be your date. Now greet your guests and go have fun. You’re wasting valuable time—yours and mine.”

“I’m gone.” Blowing her friend a kiss, Laura slipped back out the door.

The arrival of her featured bridal couple delayed thoughts of the man awaiting her upstairs, and she met her guests in the main lobby, genuinely pleased to see them.

Like the Knights, Delia Wallace and Jackson Marsh were the perfect couple to act as the honorees of her grand opening. Not only were they a very attractive pair—Delia was as blond as her fiancé was dark—but as interns on Dale’s construction team, they had a history with the Wedding Wing.

“Delia, Jackson, welcome back. It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too.” Delia extended her hands and gave Laura’s a welcoming squeeze. “We’ve missed this place so much.”

“Are you two ready for your big day?”

“Beyond ready,” Jackson said. “This wedding has become a full-time job.”

“How’s that? You’re supposed to be letting Falling Inn Bed do all the work.”

He wrapped a protective arm around Delia. “That’s what I thought. But my fiancée spends all her time explaining to my ultraconservative future in-laws that being the guests of honor at your Naughty Nuptials isn’t the same thing as having our wedding featured in an X-rated movie.”

Delia sighed. “I shouldn’t have told them about the documentary.”

The Worldwide Travel Association had sent a photojournalist to document the Wedding Wing’s grand opening and as the featured bridal couple, Delia and Jackson would be front and center of the coverage. She could see where ultraconservative future in-laws might have trouble connecting the Naughty Nuptials with a legitimate hospitality industry documentary.

“What can I do to help?” she asked, needing more information to figure out how to address the problem. “I reserved your folks a regular room on the same guest floor where you’ll be staying until the ceremony. They shouldn’t run into anything too controversial there.”

Unfortunately, that was about the only place they wouldn’t run into anything too controversial.

“As long as we don’t invite them to see our honeymoon suite,” Jackson said.

“Oh, God, no,” Delia agreed. “The Shangri-la Paradise would be enough to make my mother faint. And to be honest, I haven’t figured out how to break the news about the sex-toy shower, either.”

Laura understood. Falling Inn Bed dealt exclusively in sex and as sex was an intensely personal subject…by necessity, the staff had become skilled in assessing guests’ reactions to put them at ease with the subject matter.

Fortunately, she had the advantage of knowing Delia. Beneath her fashion-model looks was actually a very shy woman who’d taken a while to warm up. And if Mom was anything like daughter…

Jackson wouldn’t have mentioned the situation unless he needed help. He knew Laura’s specialty happened to be converting her guests into romance enthusiasts.

“What time do your parents arrive tomorrow?” she asked.

“Their flight’s due early. A little after eight.”

“Great, plenty of time before the festivities start.” Looping her arm through Delia’s, she steered her toward the promenade. “Come on. Let’s get you checked in. We’ll talk while we walk. I’ve got an idea.”

Laura detailed her plan to have a limo pick up Delia’s parents at the airport for a grand tour of Niagara Falls. “Let’s give them a little VIP treatment and warm them up to the area before we bring them to the inn. You tell me what interests them, and I’ll assign a concierge to be their guide.”

She smiled, hoping to reassure an anxious Delia. “We’ve got a lot more than the falls around here and my staff is skilled at presenting our unique services. We’ll break the news about the events in bits and pieces, and I’m sure we’ll have them comfortable and ready to have fun before they even check in.”

Jackson smiled appreciatively. “Sounds like a great place to start.”

“And you’re sure this won’t be too much trouble?” Delia asked.

“Not at all, Delia,” she said. “I’ll have your folks back in plenty of time to get settled before the festivities. All you have to do is prepare them for the official Falling Inn Bed parents-of-the-bride VIP treatment. And now, are you ready for the unveiling?” Laura brought them to a stop beneath the entrance to survey the newly decorated lobby. “Ta-da! Here it is. What do you think?”

Delia and Jackson’s obvious pleasure made Laura smile. While they’d been involved with the construction of the new addition from the ground breaking, they’d left for their next project before the design crew had worked its magic. And the finished project—from the ornate ceilings and papered walls to the array of cranberry ware vases and the Mireille Marceaux displayed in prominence—was indeed magical.

“Laura, I can’t tell you what it means that you chose us as special guests for your grand opening,” Delia said.

“Special guests?” she repeated. “You’re the honorary bridal couple for the Naughty Nuptials. And who better to inaugurate the Wedding Wing? Not only did you help build it, but you got engaged here. You’ll be written into our history as the couple who started the matrimony ball rolling.”

And establishing what Laura believed with her whole heart and soul—that a perfect man existed for every woman. What better place than the Wedding Wing to begin a marriage?

There wasn’t one as far as she was concerned.

Motioning her bridal couple toward the wing’s check-in desk, she said, “I’ve got a few things I need to cover and then you can go settle in. The events won’t officially begin until the welcome reception tomorrow night, which is why I wanted you here early. You deserve to relax before your guests arrive.”

Accepting a package from the desk clerk, a box gift-wrapped in white silk and wedding bells that contained the introductory packet, she passed it to Delia. “Inside is everything you need to prepare. Program. Itinerary. Maps. Checklist. I’ve also included copies of the Bride’s Guerrilla Handbook and Groom’s Survival Guide.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “The Groom’s Survival Guide?”

“I wrote these handbooks myself,” she explained. “And you need to know everything in them. Trust me.”

“Of course we do,” Delia said, coaching her fiancé.

“Good.” Now if her staff could just win over the bride’s reluctant parents, they’d be off to a good start. “Swear to me you’ll look over everything and call if you have any questions. I’m 1-1 on the house phone.”

After helping them to check-in, she saw Delia and Jackson settled before making her way up to her own honeymoon suite on the fifth floor. Beyond the door lay the suite she and Dale had designed together. A place for lovers.

And a man who might become her lover.

If he wasn’t angry about his date.

Taking a deep breath, Laura slipped the card key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

The Castaway Honeymoon Isle was a penthouse suite with an open floor plan arranged around a central focal point—a tropical oasis complete with lush plants, a heated pool and rushing waterfall. It had been dubbed Lovers’ Lagoon during construction and the name had stuck. Now it graced the promotional materials and the Web site.

The suite played to the fantasy of a couple being stranded on a deserted island alone, and every room in the place—including the bath—overlooked this oasis through a wall of glass.

There was a comfortable living area, a minikitchen and dining area, a master bath with a glass shower stall large enough for two and a bedroom with a bed large enough for plenty of sex play.

Laura had chosen the theme herself, a delightful Key West decor that was both airy and colorful and brought to mind translucent turquoise water and spun-sugar sand. Inhaling another calming breath, she closed the door and turned….

There he was, watching her from across the suite, where he’d sprawled in a chair with a vantage of the door. With his long legs outstretched and his elbows casually hooked on the chair arms, Dale looked equal parts expectant and predatory in a distinctly bad boy way.

She couldn’t help but marvel at how her body went on red alert at the mere sight of him, a result of his overpowering good looks—black hair, cleanly chiseled features and a lethal grin. He had this hint-of-a-dark-shadow thing going on along his jaw that only added to the effect.

Even sitting, there was no missing that Dale was a tall man, athletic, a man who could move with fast, strong motion and energetic grace. Add that to the way he idly fingered her invitation while watching her with those smoky gray eyes, and her heart sped up its beat until she could barely breathe.

“Hello, Laura.”

The minute he opened his mouth, Laura remembered exactly why she hadn’t been able to get this man out of her head. His voice was pure sex—whiskey deep and silky smooth, a sound that conjured up images of bare bodies gliding against each other in a distinctly rhythmic way.

“Welcome back, Dale.” She sounded breathless and that smile playing around the edges of his mouth suggested he’d noticed.

Not exactly the entrance she’d planned in her fantasies. She’d intended to breeze in and make herself comfortable and detail the game plan. But suddenly she needed him to react, to hear him say he’d accepted her invitation, that his arrival in this suite wasn’t just morbid curiosity about why Annabelle had chased off his date.

Or, worse yet, a joke.

“Are you angry about your date?” She couldn’t read a thing on his face.

“She’d still be here if she wanted to be.”

Okay. He clearly wasn’t too concerned about the runaway date. “Do you want to be my guest for the Naughty Nuptials?”

“I want to be your lover. I have since we met.”

She didn’t know whether it was his calmly issued declaration or the hungry look that sent a rush of awareness through her, but the pulse suddenly throbbing in her throat precluded any reply.

He held up the invitation. “This says you want to share this suite and have a good time. What’s going on here, Laura?”

She took another deep breath. She’d known this would come out of left field for him. It had come out of left field for her. There was only one thing to do here—be honest.

“I changed my mind,” she said simply.

“Now, after I’ve left town? How the hell did you reconcile our differences?”

“Do you mean declining to date you when you asked?”

He nodded.

“The limited time frame of the grand opening solves the problem, don’t you think?”

He looked skeptical. “One of them, maybe. I’m leaving in three weeks, so there’ll be no question about commitment.”

“Problem solved then. As long as we’re clear on what we want from each other.”

“I know what I want from you, Laura. I’ve always known.” His dark, silky tone promised enough bare skin and killer orgasms to send a shiver through her. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“I want to be your lover.” She gave his words back to him, needing to give as good as she got, that familiar feeling rising up like it always did with him, that…need to do something to catch his attention, to make him notice her.

“Really?” He arched an inky brow. “You wouldn’t go on a date with me because you don’t do flings and I’m not the man of your dreams.”

Now he shot her long-ago words back to her with that deep, sexy voice, his gaze holding hers so steadily that she could feel the effects low in her belly. “Can’t a girl change her mind?”

“What made you change it?”

“You’re the man of my fantasies.” She watched his reaction flash across his handsome face. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened. His whole body tensed. “It’s this chemistry between us, Dale. It drove me crazy while you were here. I thought after you left I’d get over it.” She shrugged. “Read my invitation. It’s all there. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

His eyes bored into her as if demanding her truths, questioning, not quite daring to believe his sudden good fortune.

“Three weeks in this suite seemed like the perfect opportunity to get this chemistry out of the way…unless you don’t want me.”

“You know better.”

The heat was pooling really low now, potent enough to make her take drastic action. Okay, so she’d have to convince him. Fair enough. She’d gone from red-hot to ice-cold when he’d asked her on a date so long ago.

Turning away, she opened the hall closet and slipped off her jacket. “I have to be back downstairs for dinner at seven.”

Here was another perfect opportunity, this one designed to convince him that she was serious about wanting a fling. Swinging her braid over her shoulder, she unfastened the button at her nape.

“Did you tell Annabelle to chase off my date?” he asked.

Laura shook her head. While she might earn brownie points if he thought she’d masterminded the deal, she couldn’t lie. Especially not when she still had pangs about the woman leaving.

“I only sent Annabelle to pick your brain. If you came in alone she was supposed to find out if you were expecting a date. If not, she could give you my invitation. If you arrived with someone, she was supposed to tear up my invitation and swallow the pieces so there wouldn’t be any evidence.”

He laughed. That husky-edged sound rippled through her but Laura still didn’t look at him. It was easier to be calm, cool and courageous when she wasn’t on the end of that gaze. Much, much easier.

Time to level the playing field.

Unfastening her skirt, Laura let it slip to the floor, leaving her standing in a shell, panty hose and practical pumps.

“What the hell are you doing, Laura?”

“I’m convincing you I’m serious about wanting a fling.”

After their long business affiliation, undressing in front of this man was beyond outrageous. But as much as she wanted to see his reaction, she refused to let him see how important his reaction was to her. She hung her skirt on a hanger, instead.

“How can I be the man of your fantasies but not the man of your dreams?” He sounded unconvinced. “Please explain the difference to me.”

His voice had lowered another sexy octave and Laura fought to keep her calm, as if stripping in front of an attractive man was a commonplace occurrence. “The man of my fantasies is a man I can enjoy myself with. When it’s over, it’s over. We both go our separate ways and take away some pleasant memories.”

She tried not to wax too poetic when she said, “The man of my dreams is the man I want to share my life with. He’ll be someone with similar values who wants similar things from life. He’ll share some of my interests and be willing to explore new ones that we can share together. He’ll bring out the best in me and I’ll do the same for him.”

Dale’s snort sounded less than amused, so Laura placed the hanger in the closet and chanced a peek at him.

The frown darkening his expression warned her a storm was brewing so she wasn’t entirely unprepared when he arched a brow and asked, “How do you know what I want from my life? I don’t recall ever having that conversation with you. Or one about values, either.”

She forced a laugh, unsure why she’d offended him. “You’re a bad boy, Dale. The man of my dreams won’t be.”

“Define bad boy.”

“The guys who drive fast cars and chase faster women.”

“This is your opinion of me? Based on what? I behaved exemplarily while I was on this property.”

He sounded so indignant that she had to swallow back a real laugh. “That may be the case, Dale, but let me point out that you can’t help flirting no matter how young or old a woman might be. I don’t think you’ll deny that.”

His frown morphed into a scowl. But on the up side, his heated gaze kept dipping from her face, and she thought he might have noticed that she didn’t wear panties under her panty hose.

“Flirting doesn’t make me a degenerate.”

“I never said degenerate. I said bad boy. There’s nothing wrong with bad boys but they don’t stay forever. They like skirting the edges and pushing the limits. They like being challenged.”

“This is bad?”

“Not at all. It can be perfectly exciting in a lover. But the man of my dreams won’t work a job where he travels all over the world for extended periods of time—”

“Sounds like you have a problem with my job, not me.”

“I don’t have a problem with either,” she clarified patiently. “I just didn’t want to complicate our working relationship when you weren’t what I was looking for in a man. It’s not that I’m opposed to a fling per se, but a fling is meant to be short. We’ve been working on this project for two years and much of that time we were on this property together.”

She wouldn’t mention her own concerns about mixing sex and romance. They would undoubtedly send this man running.

“I find it interesting that the woman who single-handedly masterminded the Wedding Wing and the Naughty Nuptials, a woman who is the biggest romantic idealist I’ve ever met, and I’ve met my share of women, believe me—”

She certainly did!

“—can be so cold-bloodedly pragmatic about her own love life.”

“What’s cold-blooded? I know what I want and don’t want to waste my time heading down roads that’ll take me where I don’t want to go.”

“How do you know where a road will take you unless you go for a spin on it?”

He visibly struggled to keep his gaze on her face, so she propped a shoulder against the wall, folded her arms across her chest and hooking her ankles in a would-be casual pose that let him view her in all her full frontal glory.

His gaze dropped again.

“I’ve looked at the map, Dale. I know exactly where you’d take me—straight into bed. Then after the ride, you’d beep your horn, wave good-bye and not look in the rearview mirror. You would have shown up for work the next day as if nothing had happened between us. I just wasn’t comfortable with that.”

“You’ve looked at the map? What the hell does that mean?”

He didn’t refute her charges, and that only reinforced what Laura already knew—Dale Emerson might be a dyed-in-the-wool bad boy, but there was honor beneath his fast grins and charming words. He wouldn’t lie. Not even he could deny he was trouble on two very nice legs.

“It means I’ve looked at some of your past rides and they’ve confirmed my opinion.” She hadn’t meant to reveal that little tidbit but if he needed proof… “I did some homework before I wrote my invitation.”

“You checked out the women I dated while I was in town?”

“Yes.”

He tossed the invitation onto an end table as if it suddenly burned his fingers. “Enlighten me.”

“My pleasure.” But first…a distraction. Dragging the hem of her silk shell upward, Laura stretched, another provocative move that was rewarded by a quick intake of breath. She schooled her smile before the blouse cleared her face.

“I heard that you had such a hot love life you could only date women who didn’t live in Niagara Falls proper so you wouldn’t damage your reputation.”

“My former dates are talking about me?”

“No, Dale. They’re bragging.”

That stopped him. His expression went blank, and his mouth popped open enough to show a glint of teeth before he rallied, “Bragging? About what?”

“About what a studmuffin you are in bed,” she informed him pleasantly. “From what I hear you can come four times a night and bring a woman to pleasure twice that number.”

His scowl reappeared in force now, but he didn’t dispute the claims, or agree, for that matter. Laura got the distinct impression he didn’t know what to say, which came as another surprise. She’d meant to stroke his ego, had thought he’d be pleased to know his past lovers regarded him so highly.

Obviously not.

“How do you even know who I dated, Laura? I never visited the same town twice.”

“You’re in western New York, my friend. Mountains and valleys and miles do not equal anonymity.”

“Apparently not.”

He sounded so annoyed that she couldn’t help but take pity on him. “I’m serious about wanting a fling, Dale. If it didn’t work out during the grand opening, then I considered taking a much-deserved vacation to California to look you up. You sounded worth the trip.”

He gave a grunt of disgust.

She smiled. “According to my research, you dated six women during the time you worked on the Wedding Wing. All six had rave reviews. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Except that I thought I was on good behavior because I was the senior project architect on this job.”

“Oh.” Pushing away from the wall, Laura headed toward the bedroom to retrieve her dinner dress and give him a performance along the way. “Case closed, Dale. You’re a bad boy.”

3

LAURA CONTINUED TO the bedroom closet, attempting to calm her pulse and reevaluate her strategy. She’d guessed that Dale would want an explanation about her change of heart, but she hadn’t expected quite so much wariness about her offer. To be fair, she supposed that being a five-star Mr. Charming didn’t necessarily mean he was careless about who he jumped into bed with.

She’d honestly never meant to imply that his actions were degenerate. She’d intended to compliment his prowess, reinforce her reasons for wanting a fling. But he’d seemed so surprised by her revelations about his past dates that she wondered if he’d expected her to crawl into bed with him without at least peeking at his history. That sort of negligence would have been reckless. Laura might be a lot of things—a romantic idealist among them—but she wasn’t reckless.

She’d decided to switch gears and veer off the respectable relationship track, and while she knew Dale from work, she didn’t know much about his personal life. She’d looked into it. Plain and simple.

Her choice of dates for the Naughty Nuptials would reflect on Falling Inn Bed during what was intended to be a media circus. Her choice in attire would reflect on the inn, too, so she selected a blue crochet dress and a pair of kid-skin slingbacks. Simple, tasteful and elegant. Heading back into the living room, she avoided Dale’s gaze and hung the dress in the hall closet.

She’d answered his questions and given him a sneak preview of what she had to offer with the removal of her suit. He would make the next move. He’d either accept her offer or turn her down. If he turned her down, she’d simply dress for dinner as if changing in front of him had been nothing more than a necessity of time constraints. She’d pretend to have some dignity left.

Dale still hadn’t said a word. Maybe he needed more time to decide. Maybe she’d just surprised him. Maybe he still didn’t trust her. But whatever his reasoning, she began to feel naked and didn’t like the feeling at all.

Just as she reached for her dress, she heard him get up. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him heading toward her, his expression nothing short of purposeful.

Now here was a look she’d never seen before. Gone was the professional who’d strategized and problem solved the design and construction of the Wedding Wing. Gone was the easy, smiling man she’d gotten to know while working together, a man who flirted as naturally as he breathed. And gone was the surprised, moody man she’d met only moments before.

This Dale Emerson had a fierce determination about him as he drew near, his long-legged strides powerful, his presence almost aggressive as he closed the distance between them.

Catching her in front of the closet, he moved behind her, and she braced herself, thinking he might whisper in her ear or kiss her cheek. Her whole body tensed expectantly, a boneless gathering of muscle as she stood poised and ready to react.

But he simply placed his hand above her head and slid the closet door shut, showcasing them in the full-length mirror. She lifted her gaze to the reflection of his face, a face that had lost much of its familiarity up close. Or perhaps all her bare skin was to blame.

Here was a man reputed to bring women pleasure. And from the way one look from him stoked the spark inside her to a flame, he’d earned his reputation with good reason.

He looked purposeful while she looked surprised. Laura thought she’d nailed this man for who he was, but soon realized that knowing Dale was a charmer and experiencing the effects of his charm were two distinctly different things.

Slipping his arms around her in a whipcord motion, he dragged her backward. She gasped as she came in full contact with his body. His broad chest surrounded her, his muscular thighs molded her backside. A rock-hard erection rode in the small of her back, and just as casually as he pleased, he rested his chin on the top of her head and met her gaze in the mirror.

“You feel good. I knew you would.”

The breezy observation made her stomach swoop wildly. She could feel his every hard inch against her and relished how good he felt.

“But can Ms. Romantic Idealist really handle a fling?”

She understood why he might raise the question. Except for the bare skin, she really didn’t look the part of a woman used to flings. Panty hose. Practical pumps. Nothing-special bra.

If she’d honestly believed Dale would arrive without a date, she might have dressed for a seduction. But her chances had been slim at best. Without Annabelle’s help, she’d have been attending three weeks of events with Adam, who would much rather deal with erotic events from the outside looking in.

“I can handle you, Dale,” she said, sounding very sure of herself. “Just because I declined a fling, doesn’t mean I can’t manage one. I’m a big girl.”

“Yes, you are.”

As if to prove the point, he dragged his hands up her ribs, a deliberate motion showcased in the mirror, visually erotic.

“So, Laura. What did you want to know about me? Were you interested in my stamina or did you ask my former dates for details?” The smoke in his gaze rode out on his voice so there was no missing that details meant sexy details.

“I wasn’t so…specific.”

“No? You didn’t want to know how I would touch you to make you come so many times in a night?” He arched a dark brow. “Or what I like to do to make me come?”

Damn if a blush didn’t start creeping up from her breasts like the sunrise, the downside to her fair skin that she couldn’t stop once it started. And she knew exactly what he was trying to do…well, not trying, doing, given the way her blush deepened.

He tested her, challenged her, because even though he touched her, he hadn’t accepted her offer yet.

“Actually, Dale.” He was about to find out that she was made of sterner stuff than he gave her credit for. “Your former dates were all so thrilled with your performances that they offered the information without much inducement.”

“I’m glad I’ve left behind some happy women, but I much prefer to think about you asking for intimate details. Don’t you want to know what I like to do in bed?”

“I’d like to find out for myself.”

He chuckled, and his fingers began a slow glide down her neck. This was no tentative exploration. His hands pressed into her skin until she could feel a heat radiating downward, making her breasts grow heavy and her nipples stand at attention.

Yet Laura couldn’t ignore that…something underlying his provocative manner. Something that hinted at how unexpected her revelations, and her opinion of him, had been.

“Does it bother you that I talked to those women?”

“Why should it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied silkily, even though the flush in her cheeks made a lie of her nonchalance. “I wouldn’t want you to worry that a romantic idealist like me would set my sights too high and wind up disappointed.”

That lethal grin kicked up the corners of his mouth, and he gave a laugh. “Never fear, lovely Laura. I’ll live up to my press. Don’t give that a second thought.”

He nuzzled his face against hers, his smile still in place, and his faintly stubbled cheek abraded her skin, a simple touch that ignited her nerve endings everywhere.

“I don’t doubt it, Dale, and I won’t have any trouble handling you, either.”

“Then I’ll be your bad boy for the grand opening. If that’s what you want from me.”

“It is.”

His gaze never left hers as he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the juncture between neck and shoulder. “I’ve wanted to be bad with you for a long time. We’re going to be bad together, Laura. Very bad.”

That heat roared inside, and Laura caught a breath that made her chest rise and fall sharply. She could still see that smile where his mouth dragged against her skin.

“You like that.”

“I do.”

There was an incredible unreality about the moment. Sensory overload from the feel of his mouth, the sight of his dark head poised over her, the promise in those smoky eyes.

This was Dale Emerson, the man who’d been haunting her subconscious for so long that watching him touch her became surreal in the extreme. A scene from one of her fantasies come to life while she stood barely dressed in front of a mirror with him, his tongue darting out to taste her throat, a warm velvet stroke that left the gleam of dampness in its wake.

Suddenly he slipped his hands around her hips, dragged them along her stomach, up her ribs. His fingers looked so dark against her skin. They looked so sexy standing together, him fully dressed and her wearing only a bra and hose. The practical pumps—nothing much to look at normally, but professional and comfortable for long days running around the property—elevated her until her back arched and her breasts thrust forward.

“You’re so beautiful,” Dale whispered, and his gaze trailed down from hers, slowly taking in her reflection.

To her chagrin, that blush continued to deepen in a distinctly unbad-girl way. She resisted the urge to shut her eyes and block out the proof that Dale had been right. She was a romantic idealist looking to take a walk on the wild side.

She wanted to be a temptress, wanted to star in this man’s fantasies the way he’d starred in hers. She wanted to wipe out the memories of the untold women who’d found pleasure in his arms before her turn had come around.

But even this aroused, Laura hadn’t lost her senses completely. “We don’t have time for this. Dinner, remember?”

His grip tightened, a possessive move that made her inhale sharply. “We have time. You’re already undressed.”

She couldn’t refute his logic, especially when his head dropped out of sight behind her. She held her breath, waited. His mouth brushed her skin then his teeth…suddenly her bra sprang open and her breasts popped out.

She sucked in a hard breath as the climate-controlled air coaxed already hard nipples to tighter peaks, and he drew the straps over her shoulders, down her arms, and let the bra drop to the floor.

“I intend to find out what you like in bed,” he said.

She heard the challenge in his voice, and her gaze zeroed in on the utterly decadent sight she presented as he cupped her in his palms, kneaded her skin with deep, erotic strokes that made her insides melt. She leaned into his touch without thinking, helpless to do anything but respond.

She couldn’t have imagined feeling this way if she’d tried. She hadn’t expected him to move so fast, hadn’t in her heart of hearts believed this whole idea would work out. But Dale was back, and he’d agreed to be her date.

For three weeks of fantasy.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he regarded her beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a look that drugged her with the promise of his next touch, a look that made it hard to draw a decent breath.

“You like how this feels.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement of fact that she couldn’t deny. “What about this?”

He caught her nipples in a firm pinch and fire shot through her like a lightning bolt, one hot blast that singed every nerve ending from warm to blistering.

“Yes.” The sound slipped out as a moan, an absurdly undignified sound that made his gaze twinkle.

“And this?”

He held on and tugged her nipples in a slow pull that splintered that bolt of heat until she could feel it everywhere. Her nipples flushed pink. Her breasts swelled visibly. She couldn’t stop herself from rising up on tiptoes to arch her whole body into his touch.

“Oh!”

Not the most articulate of replies, but given his grin, Dale got the general idea. He thumbed the now-swollen peaks and each stroke made her tremble in reply, full-bodied quivers that mirrored their achy counterparts deep inside.

“You have such beautiful skin.” His deep voice whispered against her ear, the caress of his warm breath making her sigh aloud. Trailing his fingers away from her nipples, he traced a vein that shone faintly along her breast. “You’ve got skin meant to be handled carefully and to be cherished.”

He touched her with teasing swirls of his fingers, leaving her to savor the ache he’d started, an awareness that echoed down to her toes.

Dale understood pleasure. He understood how to make a woman respond to his touch, and he handled that knowledge with as much skill and experience as he’d ever demonstrated at work.

On the job he’d known how to interpret her architectural needs. He’d taken her vision to create the Wedding Wing. In this honeymoon suite, he understood her desires and how to fulfill them. He took her unspoken fantasies and made them reality.

She thought about making a few demands of her own. She wanted to kiss his mouth, wanted to wrap herself around him and learn the feel of all his hard places. She wanted to taste him and tempt him the way he tasted and tempted her, so much.

She wanted to prove that even though she didn’t normally indulge in flings, she would play by the rules. Bad was an attitude, after all, and she could wield attitude if it meant this man pleasuring her. And getting a chance to pleasure him.

But even through the haze of steamy sensation that made her melt against him, Laura recognized that she’d both offended and challenged Dale with her frankness about his personal life. She hadn’t intended to, but explaining herself had brought his actions and her opinion up for discussion.

Dale Emerson might be a lot of things—a brilliant architect and construction manager, an oh-so charming man—but first and foremost he was male. He wanted to prove himself.

Right now she would let him. She’d told him she could handle a fling, and she would have plenty of time during the upcoming weeks to back up her statement with proof. At the moment, Dale wanted the upper hand so she gave up all thoughts of demands and let him do what he did best—be bad.

Raising her arms, she stretched until she could slip her hands around his neck and contented herself with fingering the silky hairs at his nape. He raked a hungry gaze over her reflection and dragged his strong hands over her, solid, persuasive strokes that skidded along her skin, made her imagine what it would feel like to press her body full against him.

Running his palms over her hose-clad backside, he massaged her cheeks, rounded her hips, then drove his fingers between her thighs with an intimacy that made her gasp. He anchored her close, riding that rock-hard erection against her, and his expression sharpened into a look of white-hot need.

“I want you,” he said.

“You said we have time,” she reminded him in a stranger’s voice.

His eyes closed. He exhaled a sound that wasn’t quite a groan, a sound so needy Laura knew instinctively that her effect on him rivaled his on her. And knowing she was the object of this man’s desire blindsided her with its potency, a physical reaction that made her tingle with arousal.

“We do.” He exhaled those words on a kiss. “If we move fast. But I’ve waited so long to make love to you that I won’t be rushed.” He brushed another kiss along her temple. “Do you know I’ve never seen your hair down? Will you take out your braid for me later? I want to see you wearing nothing but hair.”

Even such a simple request meant he’d been thinking about her, perhaps even fantasizing, and she found the thought exciting. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

His eyes fluttered open again, and he speared her on a heated gaze. “Mine, too. And speaking of pleasure…” His voice trailed off as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of her hose and dragged them down.

She suddenly stood there with her arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts thrust outward and her sex exposed, looking decadently bare with the hose tangled around her thighs.

His low growl rumbled near her ear, and he ground that hot erection against her for good measure. But before she had a chance to ride his length and share some of her excitement, he stepped away. The air suddenly caressed her bottom, punctuating the distance he put between them.

“I’m going to bring you pleasure, Laura.” His husky-voiced declaration filtered through her, almost as potent as the hands he grazed along her bare skin.

Threading one hand between her thighs, he zeroed right in on the knot of nerve endings there. Coaxing the tiny bundle from its hiding place, he expertly rolled his fingers, sending a jolt through her.

Their gazes locked in the mirror. The intensity on his handsome face, those thick lashes hooding smoky eyes, promised her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined, promised that he would enjoy making her come apart at his command.

Forcing her to part her thighs, he explored her at his leisure. With sleek curls of his fingers, he spread moist arousal along her most intimate places, and Laura arched back against him, surrendering to the heat, letting him have all the control, payback for having resisted him for so long.

And he welcomed her payment, taking liberties that seemed astonishingly brazen for two people who’d only just decided to get intimate. But obviously Dale felt as if two years of unrequited attraction entitled him to privileges.

He thrust those fingers silkily in, and her body grew slick beneath his skilled touch. The mirror displayed every nuance of her expression, the way he worked her in long pleasured strokes, the way she swayed sinuously to feed this awakening need within.

“I want to watch you come,” he whispered. “Let go.”

Let go? She barely hung on. She rode his hand with an urgency she’d never known before, didn’t want to control, a need that tossed her normally sound reason to the winds to keep up this steady rocking motion… A motion that created friction exactly where she needed it.

Dale promised to bring her pleasure and he did. Tension mounted, a coiling pressure that wound its way through her, and took over until she recognized the look of casual determination on his face. He hadn’t been joking. He wouldn’t stop until he made her come. Right here. Right now.

While he watched.

And when he hauled her back against him to find a deeper position, she did let go. She couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, wasn’t sure she even wanted to as her body moved decadently in time with his strokes. Let him enjoy the show because once he used the heel of his palm to knead her orgasm into breaking, she couldn’t worry about anything but the way her body had started to vibrate….

When Laura came, it was an expansive, glorious sensation that rolled through her body, as if two years of longing had crested and finally broke. Two years of fantasies that had grown into almost an obsession. A climax that shocked her with its intensity, left her panting as she leaned against him to support herself because her legs wouldn’t do the job.

She wasn’t sure how long it was until she could force her eyes open, but when she did, she almost wished she hadn’t. Dale still watched her with that hungry expression, seemingly content to stand there forever with his hands wedged between her thighs.

She wasn’t sure what to say, but Dale proved that bad boys could still be gentlemen when he eased his hands away and slid her hose back into place with a few efficient moves.

Steadying her until she could stand on her own, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

His smile was pure male satisfaction, his voice a dare when he whispered, “One down. Seven to go.”

4

DALE ADJUSTED HIS tie in front of the dresser mirror, surprised and content with this turn of events.

A bad boy.

Leave it to Laura to dissect him. Yes, he’d enjoyed an active sex life before he’d starting building the Wedding Wing. And had he been enjoying himself during this job as he ordinarily would, he would never have had the kind of hard-on for this gorgeous blonde that wouldn’t go away. The kind that had made him desperate enough to invite heartbroken Monique on this trip.

He shook his head, exasperated by his own obsession with a woman, and at Laura’s idealistic notions about him and sex. If she wanted bad, he’d give her bad beyond her wildest dreams.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

It went a long way to salvage his pride that he wasn’t the only one suffering a serious case of unrequited lust. Just the memory of her smooth skin had his fingertips tingling. He had it so bad that he wanted tonight’s dinner over with so he could get her back to this room and start exorcising his demons.

He hoped Laura understood what she was getting into, because Dale meant exactly what he’d said—he didn’t intend to be rushed. He was going to make slow, careful love to her and explore this chemistry they shared. He would learn every inch of her tempting body and what touches made her melt the way she had in his arms.

“Heading out tonight?” Laura asked.

He glanced around to find her standing in the doorway dressed in a clingy blue dress that invited his gaze to linger over every shapely inch of her. “I’m escorting you to dinner.”

“Oh.”

Her beautiful face still looked soft-edged with pleasure, and with the dress accentuating the unusual blue of her eyes, she looked more edible than any feast Falling Inn Bed’s chef could prepare. Covering the distance between them, he slid his arm around her waist and tucked her close so he could feel all those sleek curves neatly against him.

A soft gasp slipped from that kissable mouth and she slid into his arms with such gratifying ease that he couldn’t resist a taste. Just one taste to test the reality against the fantasy.

He brushed his mouth across hers, sampled velvet moistness and his own lightning-hot response. Just a taste.

“We only have three weeks together, Laura, and I don’t plan to miss a second.” He traced her full lower lip with his tongue. “Not even for your business dinners.”

“I’d like you to come.”

“I plan to—four times, remember?”

Her gaze darted upward, her eyes so wide with surprise that he kissed her again to stop from laughing. What was it about this woman that pushed his buttons on such an instinctive level?

Deprivation, maybe. For a guy who usually dated a different woman each week he’d curtailed his dating for an obscene amount of time to behave like a boss on this project. Or perhaps deprivation had only intensified the effect. He recalled feeling as wildly attracted to her the day they’d met. A feeling that translated into a desire to distract her so he could keep stealing kisses.

Her mouth parted beneath his and he thrust his tongue inside, tasting her sweet warmth, savoring the easy way she responded. She tasted of inevitability. She wanted him as much as he wanted her and had finally accepted that this heat raging between them was a gift to be explored and enjoyed. Her kiss told him that she’d stopped resisting the truth and abandoned any thoughts of wasting more time.

They’d wasted too much already.

Back to deprivation again, which just might account for the urgency Dale felt right now, the need to thread his hands around her neck, tilt her head back just enough so he could plunge a little deeper, taste a little more. Her body rode his, all swells and hollows of sleek muscle, enticing him with the memory of the way her skin had felt beneath his hands, tempting him to shift his hips to ease the ache of another growing erection.

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